


Iridescence

by HelloDoctorMorphine



Category: Bandom, Cobra Starship, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco, The Academy Is...
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Merpeople, Children being evil, Diver jokes, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Gen, M/M, Merpeople, Resorts, Ryan gets high, Scuba Diving, idiots being idiots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-13
Updated: 2013-05-13
Packaged: 2017-12-11 19:25:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/802309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HelloDoctorMorphine/pseuds/HelloDoctorMorphine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'“You’re also the new waiter, sous-chef, housekeeper, sand-raker, and assembler of dive equipment.”<br/>Gabe blinks. “What?”<br/>Sisky just grins, scratches his dark blonde curls. “Welcome to Utila.”'</p><p>Gabe gets kicked off Victoria's couch and sent with a one-way ticket to Decaydance Dive Shop and Resort in Honduras. And that's when things get weird.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Iridescence

**Author's Note:**

> First of all: hi. I'm Sunshine.  
> Second: this is based off my own diving experiences, so if you're confused, I'm apologizing in advance.  
> Third: while I take no credit of 'With The Moon In His Arms', I was inspired by it to write this story. Thank you, miserylovedme, for writing that.  
> Thank you, Inu, Pixie, and Kira for cheerleading. Love you, chicas!  
> Enjoy this fic, now, children!

Gabe wasn’t expecting Victoria to actually kick him off her couch. She’s Victoria, for fuck’s sake, she loves him!

Well, not enough to keep him feeding off her money and space for more than five months.

It’s five in the morning. He has a small suitcase and a backpack, a folder of random papers in his hand, and he’s standing in JFK Airport, waiting in line for screenings. There’s a trim businessman in front of him, bouncing on the balls of his feet, and behind him is a family going to Disneyworld with two kids screaming bloody murder. His ears feel like they’re bleeding, he hasn’t had coffee, and for fucks sake if he has to do more screenings than the one in front of him he will kill the TSA.

Still. He dutifully unpacks his bags, sets his computer, shoes, jacket, and liquids in a set of boxes, sends his belongings through the scanner, and walks to the body scan, dreading every unattractive inch of it.

“Hold your hands above your head and stay still,” the TSA guard, an older woman, snaps. He rolls his eyes, but still follows directions. The scanner hums, and within a few seconds, he’s out of it, and collecting his things.

****

On the flight, he ends up talking to a young woman who’s originally from California. She has skin that’s tanned caramel, light brown hair, and soft dark eyes. She’s dressed in floaty black capris and an aqua tank top, and is describing how she’s a yoga instructor and this is her fourth move since coming back to the US from two years in India.

He just nods on as she describes India - and even speaks a little Hindi - and dares not to open his mouth about where he’s going. She just sounds impressive with what she’s done in her life and he’s... A bum.

He sighs relief when the captain announces the initial descent into Dallas.

****

Honduras.

He’s. Going. To. Fucking. Honduras.

If he can ever get back to Jersey, he’s going to fucking slaughter Victoria. There’s no way in hell that she loves him. In any way.

So he finds himself standing on an asphalt runway, next to a Cessna, in hundred-and-two degree weather, sweating his ass off from doing nothing, and looking down at a pink Post-It with, in Victoria’s handwriting: Look for Sisky.

Who the fuck was Sisky supposed to be?

He hangs by the bar near the landing strip, drinking beer, until a guy with dark blonde curls traveling past his chin, dressed in a loose orange hoodie with the sleeves pulled up and the zipper down, and tan cargo shorts, approaches him.

“You must be Gabe, right?”

Gabe nods, giving the guy a look. “Well, yeah, since all the tourists have left.”

Orange Hoodie Guy just smiles. “Yeah. It’s okay. I’m Adam. Siska. But call me Sisky.”

“Gabe,” Gabe mutters, holding a hand out to shake. “I’m the new bartender.”

“You’re also the new waiter, sous-chef, housekeeper, sand-raker, and assembler of dive equipment.”

Gabe blinks. “What?”

Sisky just grins, scratches his dark blonde curls. “Welcome to Utila.”

****

The place is called Decaydance Dive Shop and Resort. The manager is a short - really short - Chicagoan named Pete, with spiky black hair and tattoos up his arms, and the assistant manager is his even shorter husband, Patrick - blonde, blue-eyed, and bespectacled in comparison.

"Oh, so you're the guy that that chick Victoria kicked out, right?" Pete asks, and this guy is asking to get killed.

“I guess you could call me that,” Gabe huffs.

Pete rolls his eyes, curling his lips back into a big-toothed laugh. “Funny.” He hits Gabe’s forearm, since, apparently, that’s all he can hit with a stature like that. “Come meet the staff.”

As Pete pads off, a few rocks from the ground getting into the heel of his flip-flop, Patrick comes up to him, grimacing.

“I’m sorry about that. Pete can be a douche when you first meet him. But you’ll warm up to him, I promise.”

“I suppose that’s what happened with you?”

Patrick rolls his eyes. “Partially. Also, I couldn’t shake him off.”

“Why?”

He shrugs. “I met Pete because he started a band and they needed a drummer. Longer story behind that, but about a year later, we started dating, and about five years ago, the band broke up and we started building Decaydance.”

“...You had to have warmed up to him.”

Patrick laughs. “Yeah! No shit.”

Pete turns around. “Hey, Patrick, where should we take him first?”

“Oh, the kitchen. At least Ray and Hayley are gonna be there.”

Gabe’s already fucking nervous. Who are these people?

He shouldn’t be worrying-

Fuck it.

They walk into the Lodge - a big, wood-and-stone building with a table set out in front, two different dining tables to each sides. A few ceiling fans whirl. At one of the dining tables, a small girl with bright red and orange hair bends over the surface to wipe it with a gray rag.

“Hey, Hayles, come meet our new bartender. This is Gabe.”

The fire-haired girl turns around, and her pixie-ish face lights up. “Oh, hey, you’re our new bartender?” She drops the rag on the table, and turns to Gabe, hand extended. “Hayley. I’m the yoga instructor here. And one of the cleaning ladies. And I set tables.”

“...Okay. I’m Gabe. And I don’t know what I am. But I can pour shots quick.”

“Well, that’s a start,” Hayley breathes, still smiling.

She turns to look at Patrick when he asks, “is Ray in there?”

“Yeah. Gerard’s currently molesting him, though, you might not wanna go in. But Frank’s out in the back with the kids, if you want. Brendon’s helping clean Ryan and Spencer’s boat right now, and I don’t know where anyone else is.”

“Oh, let them have fun-”

“No, Pete,” Patrick cuts in, “we can’t have employees having sex in the kitchen.”

The small blonde marches to the kitchen door, in the far corner of the large room, and starts knocking wildly on the door. “Hey! You two! You better not be doing anything in there!”

“...Stop stressing, Patrick,” a voice says from behind the door, “you really need to get laid. You haven’t gotten anything in awhile, have you?”

Patrick sighs. “Gerard-”

The first voice yells, “Pete, you should jump him tonight!” just as another, softer, lighter voice says, “Gerard!”

Patrick makes a tired, frustrated sound. “The new guy’s here!”

“Oh!” one of the voices calls. There’s a bit of stirring from across the door, a few knocked saucepans and maybe some tipped jars - who are these people? - and suddenly, a guy walks out.

He’s about five-nine, so he’s a bit better on height than Pete and Patrick, with cropped black hair that sticks out in every direction from who knows what. He has skin that must have originally been really pale, but is now tanned to a light, sugary brown, hazel eyes sticking out. He’s dressed in black swim shorts with white stitching, and a red shirt. He’s grinning wildly, flashing miniscule, white teeth.

He spots Gabe, and walks over. Oh god.

He extends a hand, and, talking out of the side of his mouth, says, “hey, I’m Gerard, I’m the head dive master and instructor here. Welcome to Decaydance! You’re the bartender. The new one?”

“I’m Gabe.”

Gerard pauses for a second. “You look really familiar, do I know you?”

“I dunno.”

“Okay. I just feel like I’ve seen you somewhere.”

Gabe swallows. “...That’s a different story. For later.”

Gabe turns again. Another guy is walking out of the kitchen, but sheepishly, hiding a blush under skin that’s slightly darker, but probably more from color than the sun. He has curly brown hair - really curly brown hair - tied back in a ponytail, and he’s wearing a black t-shirt and blue shorts.

He spots Gabe. Okay, this guy looks a little better.

(A little taller, too.)

“Oh, you must be the new bartender. I’m Ray. I’m the chef.” He has a lilting, gentle voice that reminds Gabe of a light sugar syrup.

“Gabe,” Gabe says, offering a hand to shake. Ray takes it.

Gabe feels a hand on his arm. He looks down, and Pete’s raising his eyebrows.

“We’ll show you around.”

****

Gabe’s learned a few things in his first couple days on Utila.

1) He lives above a fucking dive shop.

2) Everyone has a title; no one has a specific job except, really, for Ray, Gerard, and Frank.

2b) There’s:

\- Pete, the head manager,

\- Patrick, the assistant manager,

\- Ray, the chef,

\- Gerard, the dive instructor/Ray’s boyfriend,

\- Frank, the dive master/Jamia’s slave,

\- Jamia, the sous-chef,

\- Sisky, the chauffeur,

\- Butcher, the boat driver,

\- Hayley, the yoga instructor,

\- Brendon, the all-around guy,

\- Ryan, the whale finder,

\- Spencer, Ryan’s boyfriend, best friend, and the Guy Who Knows The Locals,

\- And Jon. The guy that Ryan and Spencer found on a dock with a suitcase in Roatan.

3) There’s four kids: Bronx, Pete and Patrick’s five year old (he’s biologically Pete’s and an egg donor’s, but whatever), and Frank and Jamia’s hellions: Cherry and Lily, the getting-close-to three year old twin girls, and Miles, the 11-month old baby who farts too much for his own good.

4) Having a New Jersey record for speed-pouring shots comes in handy.

5) Everyone does their fair share of hauling oxygen tanks, diving vests (Gerard calls them BCDs,) and other such dive material. They also do their fair share of making beds, brewing coffee, cleaning tables, raking the sand for sand flies, and chopping vegetables for Ray.

6) Do. Not. Walk. On. Ryan’s. Boat. If. You. Do. Not. Know. Him. Well.

7) Gerard’s probably the only one on the island with no tattoos or piercings. But no matter what, Frank doesn’t have enough tattoos.

7b) Gabe’s officially started a petition for Pete to re-pierce his nipple.

8) Everyone seems to either be beating eachother up or fucking each other. Gabe can do the fucking, but he’s not quite sure about the beating people up.

9) Don’t be alarmed if Pete grabs your ass; Pete is simply a sexual guy.

9b) In fact, take delight in it, so long as Patrick doesn’t see.

10) You can always tell when Patrick gets laid - just don’t say anything about it.

11) Don’t do stupid shit around the Jungle Bus.

12) Never pee in a wetsuit. At least, that’s what Frank says.

12b) Frank knows when you’ve peed in a wetsuit. And he. Will hunt. You. Down. And KILL YOU.

13) Everyone’s a foster parent to the kids, but for god’s sakes, Gabe! Don’t feed them your cocktails!

13b) So quotes Jamia.

13c) Gabe’s not that stupid.

13d) Well... No. NO. Gabe is better than that!... Right?

14) The locals say that there’s a mermaid that hangs around close to their dock.

15) Don’t believe everything the locals say.

****

After a good week or so, Gabe’s woken up at eight by an excitable Gerard.

“...Wuh?”

“Get up, asshole,” Gerard says, “we’re starting on your diver’s certification today.”

****

Which ends up with Gerard dragging Gabe out to the shallow sandbar that’s twenty feet off the shore, and immediately going into a thorough education of the actual names of the gear, how to put them on, take them off, the functions of everything, and what to do in an emergency, which, for the fucking love of god, Saporta, you have one fucking job and that’s don’t fucking fuck things the fuck up.

For a cheery artist who sings at the tops of his lungs in the dining hall every morning, Gerard can fit the word fuck in a sentence to the point that it must be something he’s worked at.

So when Gabe finally gets out of the water, the swear is ringing. In. His. Ears.

And since he missed breakfast today, he has to babysit the kids while he shoves cassado into his body at record time.

Jamia is at least with him, bouncing Miles in her arms and smirking while she asks various questions regarding Gerard’s less-than-appropriate language when he teaches.

“He doesn’t do that when he’s around guests, though. His clean dialogue is a little forced when that happens, though.”

“When?” Bronx asks, looking up at Jamia with a confused face.

“When Gerard says the f-word, Bronx, hon,” Jamia mutters.

“You mean fuck?” the five year old supplies.

“Don’t say that word, Bronx, it’s ugly,” Gabe sighs.

“But Daddy says it all the time! And Dad says it when he’s not happy!”

“You and Daddy say it too, Momma! And everyone does!” Cherry exclaims.

“Yeah!” Lily and Bronx chant in unison.

“Okay, you three! How about we go to Ryan’s boat now?”

Gabe chews his last mouthful of beans, rice, and egg scrambled together. “What?”

“They’re not going ‘round the island today,” Jamia supplies, “so we can drop them there while you help Ray and I make dinner.”

****

While Gabe mixes Hayley a crantini one night, Hayley starts talking about how the full moon’s in two days.

“...What’s important about that?” Gabe asks, pouring a hint more of vodka into the shaker. “I mean, full moon. Big fucking deal.”

“Well... It’s pretty,” Hayley snarks.

Brendon smiles, leaning over to kiss Hayley’s cheek. “That’s when I realized I was in love with her.”

“But it is beautiful,” Hayley says, pushing Brendon away with a loving smirk on her face.

“Let me correct her,” Ryan says, airily, as he waltzes into the bar. “It’s because the goddess of the ocean comes out.”

Ryan reeks of weed. Not that Gabe expects any better.

In fact, where did he get that weed?

“They’ve called her Cotalicue, Agwe, Yemaya. Those are all Caribbean names - well, kind of - but they’ve likened her to a goddess of the moon, of beauty, of motherhood, to a nymph. But she’s always the goddess of the sea first. And she comes out during the full moon with her children.”

“...Gabe, gimme my crantini, I can’t deal with Ryan when he’s high,” Hayley mutters.

“But go,” Ryan says, “go, Gabe. It’s wonderful.”

“Don’t listen to Ryan, no goddess comes out,” Hayley says, “but I can guarantee that it’s worth it.”

“It is?”

Hayley smiles fondly. “It’s gorgeous.”

****

Despite his better judgement, Gabe decides to hang out at the dock the night of the full moon.

Well, if Hayley says it's an amazing thing to look at, then oh well. It's not like he's gonna be destroyed by it.

It's 8: 14, give or take a couple minutes - but that's what Gabe's phone reads - and he's got a blanket, a bag of Chex Mix, and a bottle of homemade screwdriver - courtesy of this morning's Sunny D and the last of the Absolut. It's not like anyone's gonna miss either.

Gabe takes a swig from the bottle of screwdriver, and leans back until he's laying down on the dock. Part of the blanket is digging into his back, but whatever. It can't kill him. Just a couple more swigs of vodka and the world is going to go the fuck around.

He decides to sit up again to spread out the blanket more evenly. His tailbone's digging into the dock, and damn that hurts.

For a brief moment, he turns around to see if anyone's come to join him. He swore he could have heard someone on the beach.

"...Hello?" Gabe calls.

The bushes rattle a little, and suddenly, Frank's head is peeking out of the bushes.

"Frank, what the fuck are you-"

"Shhh!" Frank looks around, paranoid, until he turns to look back at Gabe. "Accident in the kitchen. The twins were trying to pull me onto my ass, and then I broke three glasses-" he inhales. "Ray, Gerard, and my wife and kids are about to rip my head off. If they come over here, you never saw me, okay?"

"What-"

Frank has already retreated into the bushes.

Gabe rolls his eyes as he takes another long swig of his screwdriver. It's gonna be a night. He turns again, to hear Frank trying to run farther into the jungle.

Despite everything, Gabe finds himself laughing. What. Fucking. Idiots.

He can live with these people.

He leans forward when he starts to see a sliver of the moon peek from behind the last of the clouds.

Dammit, Hayley was right. That's pretty fucking beautiful.

At first, Gabe doesn't move when he hears water sloshing around. A good few weeks of living here has taught him that it could be the tide picking up, or the storm coming in, or one of the rafts, or even some nurse sharks.

He takes the longest drink from the bottle of screwdriver yet, and sighs in content. He could do this once a month. Definitely.

That thought changes pretty fast.

He feels a hand curling around his ankle, tugging, and suddenly Gabe's ass is moving closer to the edge of the dock, and he has to let go of his drink to not get pulled over the edge.

Speaking of the edge.

He looks over the side of the dock.

He also finds himself looking into a pair of warm brown eyes.

Gabe squaks in an effort to get himself back on the dock, drinking the rest of the vodka, and running like fuck from the dock, but a wet hand clamps itself in front of his mouth.

He turns to stare at the face.

The face is that of a boy - man - whatever - who might be a little younger than Gabe himself - maybe twenty two - but the fact that he's a boy isn't exactly as resonant in Gabe's mind as the fact that he looks so feminine. Gentle features, big eyes, light brown hair that travels in damp waves to a space in the middle of his neck...

Wow.

The boy takes his hand off Gabe's face, and chooses to hold his hand instead. His hands aren't just damp, they're soaked, and Gabe can't help but wonder if Jon isn't the only castaway that Ryan and Spencer are holding on their boat. Maybe he's a professional diver or something...?

The boy smiles, bright and sweet at the same time. Gabe can't help but return that.

He also can't help but slide himself on his stomach to get a better look at the boy. While still holding his hand, of course. The boy only smiles wider, and then moves another hand on the dock, moving his hand from Gabe's to stroke his cheek. A streak of saltwater is left behind on his face, but Gabe doesn't mind.

As the moon passes above the clouds, both Gabe and the boy turn to look.

The boy whispers something, and Gabe turns to him. "What?"

"The moon," the boy whispers, "the moon."

The boy sighs, and turns back to Gabe, reaching the hand that is now fondling the curve of Gabe's ear to his chin. The boy lifts himself onto the dock, and turns Gabe's head, before giving him a kiss on the cheek.

He disappears into the water without a single air bubble.

Gabe flops back onto the deck, and gives a mistrusting glare to the Absolut bottle. Maybe there was a reason no one was drinking the vodka.

****

At breakfast the next morning, Gabe says, "so I was out on the deck watching the moon rise, and this boy was swimming around the dock."

Pete smirks. "Who was this boy?"

"He was hotter than you, you little bitch," Gabe snaps, and Pete howls in laughter.

Hayley's eyebrows actually shoot up into her hairline. "A boy?"

Brendon shrugs, wrapping one arm around Hayley's waist as the other grips a fork and shovels up some of his Cassado into his mouth. "I' migh' 'uve been uhn uh duh pehple 'n 'nother ha's."

"What?"

Brendon swallows. "It might have been one of the people in another house. A few of the people that rent out places here are professional divers."

"But what happened?" Hayley asks, wiping the corners of his mouth with a napkin.

"Um... This guy just kinda swam up to the deck and stayed there. And he was giving me this weird face, and then he turned around and said something about the moon, and then he swam away."

"Swim away, little fishy!" Brendon squeals. Hayley giggles, leaning up to kiss his cheek.

Pete starts up in peals of laughter just as Patrick walks in, Bronx clinging to him.

"What's happening, you guys?"

Brendon looks back up, with a wickedly happy grin on his face. "Gabe met someone on the dock last night!"

Patrick frowns, and mutters, "that dock was private." He turns to Gabe, and oh shit. "Gabe, what happened?"

Gabe shrugs, but even he's smiling to himself a little. "I was on the dock last night, and someone just swam up to the dock, and stayed there for about a minute, and then swam back into the water."

Patrick furrows his eyebrows, but Bronx's perk up. "Gabe saw a fish boy!"

"Fish boy?" Gabe asks the almost-six-year-old.

"Yeah! A boy, but a fish! Like a mermaid! But a boy mermaid!"

"Bronx," Patrick laughs, "mermaids don't exist."

"Daddy says they do," the small blonde boy pipes up.

Patrick gives a look to Pete. "Well, don't believe everything Daddy says, he's not all there in the head."

"Hey, I resent that!" Pete yells, and Bronx giggles.

"Daddy, Dad thinks you're crazy!"

"Everyone does on this island!"

"I wonder why," Patrick smirks.

Pete looks indignant. "Why did I marry you?"

Patrick leans over, setting Bronx down on a seat, and tilts his head to give Pete a light peck on the lips. "Because you love me. At least, that's what you said five minutes ago."

As Pete smiles at his husband and leans in for another kiss, Bronx covers his eyes. "Eeeeew!"

Gabe chuckles. "It won't be so gross in a few years, Bronx."

"No! It will always be gross!"

Gabe decides not to fight with him, and instead, while the table goes into a ruckus, he leans over, and asks Bronx, "so what do you mean by a fish boy?"

"Like... He's not a boy. Not really. Like... He's a fish, too."

"Have you seen a fish boy or girl before, Bronx?"

The six year old looks at his fathers, before looking at Gabe with a dead serious expression. "You have to say that I never said anything. Pinky swear!" The young boy hisses, sticking his little finger out.

Gabe extracts his own from his palm, wrapping it around Bronx's. "Pinky swear."

Bronx turns to Pete and Patrick one more time, and cups his mouth, motioning for Gabe to turn his head.

"I've seen the fish boy, too."

Gabe gasps a little, but nods.

"He was swimming. He had kinda long hair. He looked like a girl, but he was a boy, I swear! And he waved at me."

Gabe turns to Bronx from a moment. "Have you seen him since?"

Bronx shakes his head. "But he's there. With the sharks and fish and turtles and squid and all of them."

****

Gabe sits with the last drops of the Screwdriver Bottle, and swings his legs on the edge of the dock, looking out into the water.

“Come on, fish boy, come up here,” Gabe mutters to himself, snapping a few times to the beat of a seriously butchered version of Some Nights, twisting an ankle to loosen his foot up.

He sees the shadow of a something underwater, a single beam of light paired with it, and Gabe braces himself for a splash.

He only notices the air bubbles when one, then two people surface from the water in full diving gear.

Gabe cranes his head to recognize the divers. “...Gerard? Ray?”

Gerard spits his regulator out, and lifts his mask off his face. “Gabe. Hey. Looking for your fish boy? Because we would have seen someone.”

“Um... What were you two doing, diving at night?”

Ray surfaces, slides his regulator out, and pulls his mask below his chin. “We’re scoping out where we wanna take the guests on the night dive tomorrow. Well, Gerard is. He just managed to drag me along.”

Gabe chuckles a little when Gerard swims over to Ray, reaching his hand through the chef’s deflated curls, before pulling him to his face and giving him a slow, sweet kiss. “You love me.”

“Unfortunately.”

“...Wait, fish boy?”

“Oh, Jamia told me about your dock experience,” Ray smiles, moonlight bouncing off his flashing teeth, “and then I told Gerard.”

“If we see your merman, we’ll tell you, okay?”

As the young couple disappear under the lapping waves once more, Gabe rolls his eyes. Seriously. These people are such assholes.

****

Gabe’s out at Pigeon Cay, a group of keys that are a five-minute motorboat ride away, with Spencer, haggling for a barracuda for lunch later that day.

“Cuatrociento pesos!” the fisherman exclaims, “eso es todo! Nada menos!” Four hundred pesos, that’s it! No less!

Spencer groans. “Vete a la mierda, cojudo!” Fuck you, asshole!

“Y tu tampoco!” You too!

Gabe doesn’t really know why Spencer insists on haggling for a barracuda that is seriously only being sold for twenty bucks, but whatever. Haggling is fun! He’ll join in on haggling any day.

“Lo siento, señor, pero por que no vender este pescado a un precio mas bajo?” Sir, why don’t you want to sell this fish for a lower price?

“Crees que puedes comprar este por un bajo precio?” You think you can buy this for a lower price? “Puto propietarios del complejo!” Fucking resort owners!

“Mira, yo sé que no nos gusta,  pero estamos tratando de ser gente decente.” Look, I know you don’t like us, but we’re trying to be decent people.

The fisherman gives Gabe a suspicious glare, and then leans forward, a mischievous, childish twinkle in his eye. “Tiene algo que me puede decir acerca de los peces?” Do you have anything you can tell me about the fish?

“Por que?” Why?

The fisherman gives him a judging, but patient stare. “Soy un pescador, idiota. Este es mi negocio.” I’m a fisherman, dumbass. It’s my business. “Y tienes buzos como compañeros en su trabajo.” And you have divers as your coworkers.

Gabe bites his lip, and looks around the improvised fish marketplace that’s been set up on the dock.

No one’s looking. He leans over the fish, gesturing for the fisherman to lean in closer to him.

“Vi el sireno,” Gabe whispers. I saw the merman.

The fisherman stares back in surprise. “El sireno?”

“Si.”

Gabe looks into the fisherman’s dark eyes, dead serious and hoping this will help. He already feels like he’s betrayed his poor fish boy by revealing his presence.

But the fisherman smirks, and says, “trescientos veinte pesos. Esta el precio final.” Three hundred twenty pesos. Final price.

“Lo tomaremos.” We’ll take it.

Spencer hands over a wad of bills, and turns to Gabe. “You’re gonna have to get a little wet, but we need to put this fish in the boat, okay?”

As Gabe nods, and helps Spencer pick the barracuda up and deposit in their docked boat, he turns to look at the fisherman.

His stare’s starting to look murderous.

****

Gabe figures that the twins and Bronx must have gotten a hold of the hose used for quickly washing off the wetsuits, because Frank exits the storeroom of the dive shop with every inch of his body dripping with water, his clothes stretching down his small form and a dirty look painted across his face.

So, Gabe joins in and becomes a douchebag with Pete.

He laughs.

Hard.

He stops laughing for a few brief seconds to watch Gerard walk in, limping and groggy, head mussed and sex-haired.

That’s a sorry sight for most. Gabe’s just happy that the guy finally got laid again.

And then Frank deposits himself in the room, even getting a couple stares from the guests, and he shuffles to the coffee machine.

“Those kids need to be under control,” the tiny, tattooed diver mutters, “they’re after me, I swear. They must be plotting some kind of plan to chop my balls off.”

“That’s rough, Frank,” Gerard hisses, gingerly sitting down and sipping his own coffee, “but some of us have bigger issues right now.”

“Oh, good for you for complaining, you got laid last night-”

“Shut up, Iero.”

“Seriously, though, when was the last time anyone here got laid? Apart from Gerard and Ray, obviously.”

Hayley smirks, shifts herself in Brendon’s lap, kisses him on the cheek, and gives him a high five.

“Seriously, you two?” Jon grumbles, “okay, what did you guys debate after your last sexual escapade?”

“Whether Tom DeLonge or Mark Hoppus is the better at singing,” Brendon says, “we never really agreed.”

“Because they went at it again,” Jon mutters, “someone was hitting their arm against the wall between yours and my room. Be lucky you guys have your own room, even if it is the size of a closet, otherwise I would have gotten Ryan and Spencer to help me throw you two into the water.”

“On the contrary, I’d get the two of them to join in with us.” As Jon gives the couple a dirty glare, Brendon smirks. “Your fault you don’t go for guys.”

“But Mark’s the better singer,” Hayley mutters.

Brendon starts belting out First Date, and Gabe starts howling with laughter. To the point that the evil fat French tourist lady glares at them.

“So, Gabe, what about you?” Butcher asks, scratching his beard with one hand and leaning onto the arm of the couch with the other. “When was the last time you got laid?”

Gabe sighs unhappily. “Not since I was in Jersey. That was... Fuck, almost a month ago.”

“Hey, you can join us anytime, Gabe,” Hayley says, shrugging.

Gabe laughs. “Thanks for the offer, Hayley, I’m honored. But my rule with being in a threesome is that we have to be in a king sized bed with plenty of supplies-”

“Answer the fucking question, Gabe,” Frank hisses.

“Okay, fine.” Gabe huffs. “I got laid a month ago. The guy I slept with is my friends-with-benefits guy. I’ve known him since we were in high school.”

“Have you been sleeping with him since high school?” Gerard asks.

“No, since college, but he’s an awesome guy. I need to call him sometime,” Gabe says.

However, the conversation breaks when Ray, Jamia, and Sisky bring out the metal tins carrying breakfast.

****

Frank claps Gabe at the base of his spine, although the movement was obviously aimed at his shoulder. “Baby’s first night dive!”

“I hate you, Frank.”

Frank grins stupidly anyways; the light coming from the front of the dive shop makes the inked scorpion on his neck gleam a little. “No, you don’t. You love me.”

“Get away from me, you hyperactive little shit-”

Gabe shrieks when his wetsuit gets thrown at him.

“Suit up, motherfucker,” Gerard calls, strapping his oxygen tank to his BCD, “we’re briefing in ten minutes.”

“Fine, asshole,” Gabe mutters to himself, “I will put the motherfucking wetsuit on.”

Admittingly, with a little difficulty, Gabe manages to get the wetsuit past his hips, and lets the top half hang in front of him, the long, cloth cord that attaches to the zipper tucked in next to his right thigh. As he starts bucking the back strap of his BCD to his oxygen tank and attaching his regulators and gauges to the tank, Gerard claps.

He turns to see that Gerard and Frank have claimed a part of the bench, and are standing on it, trying to get everyone’s attention.

“Everyone!” Frank calls, and wow, for such a tiny guy, the little shit can yell.

The group of divers look up to the small, tattooed instructor, and he starts talking.

“Okay, listen. We’re gonna split you guys up into two groups, and you’re gonna have to stay with us the whole time. For the night dive, we are going directly off the shore. We’re going to walk about twenty feet off the beach, and you’re gonna change out of the booties you’re wearing and put on your fins. From there, you get a flashlight from one of us and we swim an extra ten feet before diving.”

“From there, you’re going to follow us,” Gerard continues. “We’re swimming into the first reef channel, which we dive directly into after a fifty foot swim. We’ll search a little there, before traveling through it into the second channel. There, we’re gonna minimize light, and look for bioluminescence. Once we’re done there, we rise up about fifteen feet, and go into the third channel. From there, we ascend until we get to the initial sandband that we start at, and then we’re gonna surface.”

“The biggest things we’re looking for are octopi, shrimp, lobster, and maybe a few sleeping turtles.” As Frank mentions them, a few of the guests coo happily. “However, if you see any lionfish, Gerard and I both have the spears that we keep with us. Tell us if you see any, and we’re going to have to kill it. I’m sorry, but it’s true, lionfish are not natural predators. Also, beware of any stoplight parrotfish. When they sleep, they form protective mucus sacks around them to keep them protected. If you wake one up, it breaks the mucus sack, and there’s gonna be a slim chance of it making it until morning.”

“Any questions?” Gerard asks, finally finishing the briefing. While a silence falls over the divers, Gabe pulls the top half of his wetsuit on, zipping it with the cord.

“Alright, my group, let’s go!” Gerard calls, and has a few bumbling divers tumble after him like ducklings following their mother, all lugging tanks and vests and carrying fins.

Frank jumps down from the bench, punching Gabe as he does so. “Okay, we’re leaving in fifteen minutes, so you can relax.”

“Serious?”

“Yeah, dude. I’d tell you to go make me a Mai Tai or something, but you can’t drink before diving. It obviously impair judgement, which is a bad idea on a day dive, much less a night dive.”

“Makes sense.” No it doesn’t.

“Yeah.” Frank turns, and starts inspecting all of his gear, before muttering a few mild curses - only one ‘fuck’ mixed in - under his breath, and turns to Gabe.

“Listen, I’m going to be in the dive shop real quick, people are walking in there and I’m missing my booties. Keep guard over the rest of these dumb French people, okay?”

“Yes sir!” Gabe smiles, faking enthusiasm.

Frank rolls his eyes, reaches to scratch his neck, and hurries into the dive shop just as the three guests that were in there leave with properly sized booties.

A blood-curdling scream, followed by three children giggling, is all Gabe needs to hear to have a faint idea as to what happened.

Fifteen minutes later, Gabe is hauling his gear-covered ass into the water, and using a twenty-foot rope attached to poles to walk himself deeper into the water.

Frank taps him on the shoulder when they need to stop, and Gabe trades out his booties for fins, before following getting a flashlight, turning it on, and following Frank a little deeper, then down into the abyss.

It’s an entirely different world, being underwater at night. Everything is shadow blending into, well, more shadows, towering and reaching over Gabe in frighteningly beautiful spires. He shines his light into the sand, just as it starts to kick up a little, and lets the last drops of air out of his BCD, deflating his lungs and letting himself sink to the bottom of the sandbar.

He watches Frank kick into the reef channel that looms ahead, and slowly follows him. He feels like another and completely different animal in the water, all of a sudden. Like he belongs down here, in the dark, relishing among the fish.

He shakes himself from it and follows Frank and the group into the channel.

There’s a delight of animals in this channel - crabs and lobster everywhere, their beady eyes glistening in a bright vermillion as they creep back into their caves; blue tunicates glow faintly with a light shined on them, a trembling royal blue.

But when Frank signals for the group to turn their flashlights off and sit at the bottom of the small canyon, a slight sense of panic gets into Gabe and stays in his bloodstream, until he sees the faint shape of Frank’s hand cutting itself through the water.

Followed by a pure wave of little, blue-white dots.

Immediately, Gabe feels a childlike delight that hasn’t been in him in years. He starts waving his hands back and forth, and chuckles into his regulator, a quick one-two-three of exhales that makes glittering bubbles above his head.

Gabe starts spinning himself in the water, trying to get his entire body to shine with the small organisms, but Frank stops him, and leads him over the ridge to his right and into the next channel.

It’s an okay view, nothing much but a few more crustaceans and tunicates, until someone uses their noisemaker, and flashes their light under their chin, making the signal for turtle, and then resting their cheek on their hand, closing their eyes for a second.

The entire group floats as slowly as humanly possible. Gabe peers into the little cove that the guest pointed into, and points the beam of his flashlight against a corner of it. Sure enough, a hawksbill turtle has snuck itself into the cove, head facing the mouth of the enclave, eyes tightly shut.

Gabe smiles deeply as he looks at the turtle, briefly letting his mind flash to an image of Patrick curled in one of the armchairs in the lodge, Bronx curled up in his arms and a gentle lullaby about sea life sleeping on his tongue.

Then, the group swims away, and Gabe pushes a little air into his BCD with the air hose, and floats above the group, making sure that they all stay together. Franks head roves a little as he tightens his grip on the spear.

Gabe see’s a little flash of a green limb under a rock up ahead, and nearly squeals in excitement, until he sees what’s next to it.

His heart pounds, blood suddenly fogging his vision as he swims straight ahead to examine the situation.

The bright green octopus starts creeping back under its rock, so Gabe moves his flashlight, and it appears again.

He sees the shadow of it fully creep out, and Gabe briefly shines his light on it. Its beady, blue eyes stare up at him, and then the object next to it, before retreating again.

A few notice the octopus.

****

As Gabe walks onto the surface, he overhears the other group.

“That octopus!-”

“Are you kidding? The turtle-”

“I wanted to take a picture for Pete and Patrick’s kid. Brooklyn or whatever his name is-”

“Those blue things!”

“Tunicates, dear.”

“And-”

Gerard gasps when he meets eyes with Gabe.

The group turns, and falls silent.

Gabe holds up the harpoon, and its silvery blade glints in the light.

“Someone threw it recently,” Gabe says, walking closer to the group. He points the blade down to avoid making anyone feel threatened, and Gerard helps him walk backwards, onto a bench, and takes off his oxygen tank and closes the valve, as Gabe fiddles with the straps and buckles attaching his BCD to his chest.

“It was next to an octopus. Would someone have tried to hunt it?” Gabe asks.

Gerard shakes his head, and when Gabe meets his eyes, they look full of despair and fright.

“I don’t know. I’ve known these waters and who’s in them for five years now. The fact that anyone would want to kill anything in them scares me so much.”

Frank runs - how, with all that weight, Gabe will never be able to figure out - and strips himself of the BCD, launching himself off it to grab the harpoon from Gabe’s hand.

“Who the fuck would do this?” Frank yells, panic rising in his voice. His tattoos glimmer from beyond the sleeves of his wetsuit. “This is disgusting! I’m horrified!”

Jamia and Ray creep out from the back door of the kitchen, the screen snapping shut behind them.

“We heard you guys yelling,” Ray says, his brown eyes widened and worried.

“What happened - Frank?”

Frank turns to his wife, and lifts the harpoon. “Gabe found this in the sandbar.”

Jamia shakes her head, and balls her hands into fists. “That’s it,” she mutters, “I’m calling the fisherman patrol in town, and he better come out here.”

The screen door snaps shut again, and Bronx emerges, with Cherry and Lily on either side of him, like sidekicks.

“Frank?” Bronx asks. Cherry whimpers, and turns into the blonde’s side. Lily audibly swallows.

“Did someone try and hurt the fishies, Daddy?” Lilly asks.

The three children jump when Pete and Patrick burst out.

Pete looks at the spear, and then drops to his knees, shock painted on his face.

“That’s... That’s never happened here,” he gasps. “Never.”

Patrick herds the three children into his vicinity, and asks, “do we know who owns it?”

As Frank and Gerard start squabbling over who to blame first, Gabe’s stomach sinks with a realization.

Someone’s out to kill something.

Something special.

Gentle brown waves and warm brown eyes set into a pale face flashes into Gabe’s mind, and he chokes on fear.

****

Through the entirety of setting the tables for breakfast that morning, Gabe’s hands are shaking with every movement, to the point that Sisky grabs his wrists and looks Gabe in the eye.

“Dude, are you this shocked by the harpoon? I mean, I get that you found it, but you’ve been here for less than a month, I’d expect Frank and Gerard to be more shocked than you.”

“Frank?” Gabe rolls his eyes. “Frank just became the ball of angry energy that he is when he’s pissed.”

Sisky chuckles at that, but soon regains composure. “But Gabe, really. This isn’t good. Was there actually something... Dead... On the spear? Is there something you’re not telling us?”

“No!” Gabe yells, and Sisky raises an eyebrow. “I mean... No. It’s just... I mean, I grew up in Jersey, I’ve seen some shit, but... I dunno, man.”

Sisky’s face relaxes, and Gabe feels like the curly-haired guy might be letting him have some slack.

“Okay, man. I get it. It’s only been your first month here, and sorry to tell you, but you’re still a little bit of a rookie with these kinds of things on this island. You’ll get used to it within the next few years.”

Next few years? Oh. Right. He’s stranded with no means of getting out.

Well, it is a bit of a paradise here, Gabe will hand that to the island.

At least, it seemed to be.

****

Realizing that he hasn’t exactly contacted any one of his friends from back in New Jersey in the past month, Gabe logs onto his laptop, opens Skype, sees that Mikey’s online, and presses the video call button.

After a few lengthened beeps, and a flashing symbol across the screen, Mikey Way’s face appears in grainy blocks in the frame, his black, horn-rimmed glasses slightly askew on the bridge of his bony nose, his sandy brown hair a nest with clumps sticking together from hair gel that hasn’t been combed and washed out yet.

“Gabriel Eduardo Saporta,” the man on screen says. Gabe smirks.

“Could say the same thing to you, Michael James Way. You didn’t even stop Victoria from shipping me out to another country.”

“Well, you should have checked your plane tickets before you boarded, asshole-”

“I hadn’t had food or coffee that morning, okay? I just got dumped at an airport by my roommate.”

“Correction: the chick whose couch you passed out on.”

Gabe sighs. “Okay, so maybe that’s true. But I had nowhere else to go! I wasn’t going to squat with one of my band mates. Or, ex at that point.”

“Oh, right, you got kicked out of your apartment-”

“When Midtown ended, yeah.” Gabe spreads his arms. “But I’m a changed man! I’m actually a lot happier, I’m doing something fun, life’s pretty great. I’m doing great.”

“Wait, where did you go again?”

“Utila. It’s an island in Honduras.”

Suddenly, Mikey’s face drops, his face turning pale. “Oh, oh god, what resort are you at-”

Gerard bursts through the door. “Hey, Gabe! Who you talking to?”

“A friend from Jersey!” Gabe calls, and Gerard coos in excitement. “Can I meet them?”

Before Gabe or Mikey can object, Gerard pads over to the chair. “Hi person from Jersey! What’s your-”

The two of them meet eyes, and choke.

“Gerard?” Mikey exclaims.

“Mikey?” Gerard says in the same tone.

“Wait, wait, wait. You guys know each other?” Gabe asks, looking between the two of them.

Mikey sighs. “Gabe, Gerard’s my older brother.”

Gabe freezes, looks up at Gerard. “...Gerard... Gerard Way? The creepy kid who used to draw in the basement and drink too much coffee? The vampire?”

Gerard goes white. “Oh, god, Gabe Saporta? You’re... I congratulated you for sleeping with my brother! Oh my god! Gross!”

Gerard runs out of Gabe’s room, screaming bloody murder,

“Well,” Mikey swallows, “that went well.”

Gabe slams his forehead against his desk, reliving deja vu of high school and college, of hanging out with Mikey and occasionally making out on his couch out of sheer boredom, seeing the skinny, bespectacled boy’s older brother as a ratty, pajamy-clothed mess that reeked of coffee, cigarettes, india ink, and cheap wine.

That became Gerard?

He thinks he might pass out.

“What the fuck just happened?” Gabe asks Mikey.

“Let’s just... Let’s ignore the fact that anything happened.”

Gabe is definitely down with that.

****

Gabe’s finished helping Brendon and Hayley rake the sand to kill sand fly eggs (although Brendon keeps calling them no-see-ums), Gabe decides to go on a walk. Last night, he poured so many shots his wrist hurts.

Well, pouring vodka shots and having a fun and intimate night with his right hand caused it.

He doesn’t realize that he’s passed Ryan and Spencer’s boat until he looks behind himself and only sees yellow sand and a conglomerate gray field of beached shells and coral, Ryan’s boat (because really, who names their boat the Pahlaniuk?) the size of a toy from here, the lights from Decaydance’s beach little pinpricks.

Gabe shrugs, and keeps on walking. For once, he feels calm. Soothed. As if he never had anything exciting today happen to him.

He finds a space on the beach to sit down, and looks out into the pale blue Caribbean, as it shimmers with red sunset, painted like blood is floating to the top.

So Gabe doesn’t even spare a second glance when he sees a little red pooling over at the stretch of beach twenty or thirty odd feet away.

It’s only until he takes another swooping look over the beach and sees a pale arm peeking out of the water that he screams.

Gabe bolts to his feet, slipping over coral and sand, jumping over a fallen Gumba Limba tree, before he slides to look at the hand.

Rather, the body attached to the hand.

Arm.

Oh shit, whatever, Gabe thinks, falling to his knees next to the body.

The body is that of a boy, in his early twenties, with a mess of matted, brown hair, two flies frolicking within their waves. His skin is beginning to burn from the sun, spreading with red, and there’s a long, deep cut traveling from his bicep, across his shoulder, and to the center of his back, with broken parts of shredded skin, with parts of the slice healing up pink and shiny, another few parts covered in puss and stinking of infection.

Gabe holds down his gag reflex, and turns the body over.

He gasps as he pulls hair away from the boy’s face, as the two flies buzz away.

It’s the boy. It’s his fish boy.

He immediately pulls his flip flops, and thanks himself for wearing shorts (thank you, Victoria) and grips the fish boy at his waist, dragging him back into the water. The fish boy exhales breathily, shakily, as if he’s been stabbed in the chest.

With a jolt, Gabe looks down at his chest and sees a scrape of red across his abdomen.

The harpoon...

Gabe shakes his head, and turns the boy around, setting him on his knees so he can steady the limp body against his leg and cleans the cut with the sharp, saline water.

As he gets himself on his knees in the water, he turns the fish boy around again and holds him with his head edging into the crook of Gabe’s shoulder, and brushes his cheekbone with a few wet fingertips.

And that’s when he takes a glance at the fish boy’s legs.

Or rather, lack of legs.

Gabe’s gut clenches when he realizes that the nickname ‘fish boy’ was a little too accurate.

He stares at fish boy’s tail.

"Yeah! A boy, but a fish! Like a mermaid! But a boy mermaid!"

Holy shit. Bronx knows about this goddamn island. That little fucker knows.

The boy’s tail is a shimmering, gray green, almost double the length of his body, with a large pair of fins right at the end, which must be the size of the boy’s chest when extended, and two extra, smaller pairs, the one closer to where his hips would be smaller than the ones right above the largest pair. Each fin is folded in, bony and closed, similar to a fan, but they all tremble open a little bit as each miniature wave folds into the shore, through their ridges. The scales are largest right in the middle of his tail, and they get smaller and smaller as they travel down each side of his tail. Instead of having a line of brown curls leading from the fish boy’s navel to where his dick should be (Gabe has a side thought of if the fish boy has a dick, but he quickly pushes it out of his mind. Not right now), there’s a line of frost-colored circles embedded into his skin, until they connect to his tail.

Finally, he notices where there’s a cut deeper than the one on fish boy’s shoulder, traveling up the left side of his tail, from the middle fin to a space where his thigh would have been. Scales have been moved, and pink sinew, and, deeper than that, red muscle, has been revealed.

Suddenly, Gabe pictures a struggle between the fish boy - merboy? merman? mermaid? - and a guy on a boat, with harpoons and nets and knives and he can’t think about this, not right now.

Gabe sees a few rocks in a shallow sandbar, and glides the fish boy’s body to it, before grabbing the rocks, and setting them around his body - two under his arms, two on either side of his neck, two where his tail meets the largest pair of fins, and one right under aforementioned fins. Gabe worries about keeping his head above the water, until he sees the gills behind his ears, below his hairline - five slits of skin on each side, drying fast.

Gabe quickly sets the boy’s head under the water.

He debates a few options: getting Frank or Gerard to come see the boy, the both of them being the closest things to doctors that Decaydance has, moving him farther inland, or swimming him back to the resort, before he realizes that those are all bad ideas.

What would they do to him?

Something in Gabe’s chest tells him not to let anyone apart from himself come anywhere close to the fish boy.

With a reluctance, Gabe leaves him, going to Decaydance, but not without kissing the boy’s forehead and whispering an unheard promise to be back soon.

****

After a long night of pouring drinks, setting tables, washing plates, and filling oxygen tanks, Gabe waits for everyone to go to sleep, before grabbing a flashlight from the dive shop and a slice of papaya from the kitchen and running out to the stretch of beach that he left the fishboy out at.

He quickly kicks off his flip flops, and balances the papaya in one hand as he shakily and slowly walks into the water, scared to disturb the boy from his possible sleep.

He shines his flashlight in his hair as opposed to his eyes, as he’s been taught with most sea creatures at night time.

His eyes fly open, and immediately fix onto Gabe’s face.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Gabe quickly blurts out.

The boy’s lip quivers, and he murmurs something that sounds like he’s asking a question.

“Um... I’m Gabe, and I found you here? And you’re really hurt. And I brought you a papaya. And you know me because-”

“You’re the boy by the dock,” the boy finishes, wide eyed.

Gabe flinches, giving him a look. “You... Can... Talk.”

The fish boy nods, and swallows, before coughing.

“How?”

He looks visibly hurt, but he still manages to prop himself up on his elbows to glare at Gabe. “Because I was taught to?”

His accent is clearly American; Gabe wonders where he could have learned English with the inflection.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” Gabe mutters, holding out the slice of sweet, orange fruit. “I brought you a slice of papaya. You’re probably hungry.”

He stares at the fruit, and at Gabe.

“Dude, take it, it’s not going to hurt you. I think.”

The boy nods, sliding up to sit forward, before grabbing the slice of fruit.

“I wasn’t killed by it the last time I had it,” he mutters, before biting into the orange flesh.

“The last time?”

He nods, swallowing. “A kid gave me some while diving. She was only eleven, twelve, didn’t know any better.”

“Oh.”

Gabe sits in silence as he watches the fish boy scarf down the fruit, groaning with satisfaction. He finally finishes it, and gives the skin to Gabe, who bunches it in his hand and shoves it in his pocket.

“Got anything else... You don’t.”

“I’m sorry-”

“It’s... It’s okay,” he says. The fish boy isn’t croaking anymore, so that’s a good sign. His voice sounds clear and lovely.

“So... The dock.”

He shrugs. “What about it?”

“Why did you kiss me-”

“Because you’re pretty.”

Gabe closes his mouth, not daring to say anything after that firm of an answer.

He’s glad that the fish boy asks him a question this time.

“So, who are you? Tell me about yourself.”

Gabe swallows. “Um... I’m Gabe. And... I’m from New Jersey. And I work at Decaydance?”

The fish boy nods. “New Jersey’s alright. Spent a few months by it’s coasts. Smells like shit, though.”

Gabe bites his tongue to not say anything in return.

The two end up spending an hour, Gabe asking the fish boy’s several questions (“Where were you born?” “Montevideo.” “Where’s that?” “Somewhere.” “What do you do?” “I pour drinks.” “I got drunk once. Not a good experience. What do you like to do?” “I play bass. And sing. I used to, in Jersey.” “Sing for me.” “No!” “Sing for me, you shit!”) until he says, “you need to leave now.”

“...Why?” Gabe asks.

“They’re gonna go looking for you. You gotta go,” the fishboy says, pushing him out of the water.

“Wait!”

“What?”

Gabe looks into the boys brown eyes, his tangled brown hair falling in them. He looks frightened, desperate.

“Can I call you something? Please? A name?”

The boy bites his lip, looks down at his hands.

“Please.”

The boy breathes in.

“William,” he says, shakily.

Gabe looks at him. “William?”

He nods. “William.”

Gabe nods, and runs back to Decaydance without another word.

****


End file.
